The Night Sky
by amamiya
Summary: No-one ever wants to sit next to Battousai at meal time. Is he really so terrifying? And what do his 'watchers' think?
1. Jasmine Tea

Hiroaki stopped just short of sliding open the shoji, surprised at how busy the dining room was. He scanned the room, sensing fierce auras and dimmed ones. More than a few were clumsy; that was the sake taking effect.

He smiled to himself, and slid the paper screen aside, grateful for the warmth and raucous voices. Less than an hour ago, he had been sopping wet, and shivering. Out on a mission, he had become separated from his group, chased by three Shinsengumi fighters. Outnumbered and unsure, he had darted through the narrow alleys of Gion and ended up in the back streets, close to the hills.

He had lost them in the gardens of the Kiyomizu shrine, where he had waited for almost an hour, in the cold rain. A shallow cut had bled and turned his sword-arm numb.

Crouching in the bushes, suppressing his ki, he had experienced a terrible, rising frustration. He was alone in the dark, and his muscles had begun to ache; a result of their recent, furious ambush.

He had sensed one of the fighters approach, and without hesitation, burst from his concealed location, sword drawn and aiming for the man's chest. Taken by surprise, the Shinsengumi man had no time to react. Hiroaki's blade impaled him and both fighters were sent crashing backwards into the foliage.

Hiroaki had freed his katana, and escaped, hoping the other two were still a good distance behind him. He had taken a circuitous route through the pottery district, navigating back streets until he reached the Kohagi inn.

It had been a busy night, and he was tired. Outside, the rain had not relented. Perhaps the weather explained why so many of the Ishin Shishi had remained indoors. Their skirmishes with the Bakufu did not stop just because of the rain, but sometimes, it almost seemed as if there was mutual agreement on both sides.

Hiroaki did not envy those who had been sent out on a night such as this. Stepping into the room, he scanned the area, searching for a place to sit. Most of the tatami space was taken, except for a small clearing in the corner.

Hiroaki took a deep breath. He understood why.

Battousai sat in the corner, slender hands cupped around a bowl of rice. His gaze was sapphire blue, hard and measured, taking in every movement. The men seemed to be aware of this, and Hiroaki felt the way in which they ignored the hitokiri, trying to appear relaxed under his scrutiny, was rather pointed.

The young man was expressionless. Out of habit, Hiroaki extended his senses and was surprised to find no trace of Battousai's ki. Of course, a shadow assassin would be an expert at keeping his aura dampened. And it was clear that the hitokiri had gone to great pains to conceal his ken-ki. Even in a safe place such as the Ishin headquarters, he remained on guard.

Perhaps that was why some of the men felt unsettled around him. If not for that startling red hair, and the cold, clear blue eyes, the Ishin Shishi's most dangerous swordsman would have gone unnoticed.

There was a sense of icy control about Battousai that made Hiroaki's skin crawl. It was almost as if the man projected menace without intending to.

After all, there was nothing to be afraid of. They fought on the same side. Sitting in the dining room, chopsticks in one hand, he ate with slow, precise movements. He posed no threat to any of them.

But he had heard the others talking, of entire _squads_ of Bakufu, slain within the space of a few breaths. By a youth who would then flick the blood off his blade, sheath it and walk away as if it had been nothing but a mild inconvenience.

Hiroaki navigated the floor, aware they were now looking at him. A few of his comrades smiled in greeting, but no-one made room. There _was_ no room.

Except for the empty space, next to Battousai.

Hiroaki tried to appear calm, but tension crept into the set of his jaw, making his expression stiff. He kneeled and took the bowl and chopsticks into his hands, helping himself to rice, salted fish and pickled vegetables.

Battousai did not move. The hitokiri ignored Hiroaki and kept eating at a steady pace, pausing to pour himself some tea. He set the pot down with fluid grace and then sipped the tea. All this was done with the absence of any perceptible sound.

Hiroaki focused on his food, forcing his breathing to slow. He picked up the chopsticks and started to eat, the mouthfuls larger than normal. He was shoveling the food into his mouth, which was unusual, as Hiroaki was normally a slow eater.

After a while, Hiroaki realised Battousai was looking at him.

He swallowed, and the clump of rice settled in his throat, causing him to cough. Battousai looked away, his attention diverted to his meal. Hiroaki forced down the rest of his food, relaxing. He reached for the tea, and met a calculating stare. The hitokiri's expression was unreadable.

_He's looking at me again._ Had he done something wrong? Hiroaki froze, running over his last few actions in his mind. He couldn't think of anything that might have offended Battousai.

_Unless…_ Hitokiri Battousai was a swordsman of the highest calibre, adept at reading intentions. Had he been able to sense Hiroaki's feelings? Did he realise that Hiroaki would never have sat here by choice?

He was about to stammer an apology when Battousai looked away, sipping his tea.

Hiroaki reached for the pot and poured himself a steaming cup, taking in the calming aroma of jasmine. He cursed himself for being paranoid, and drank.

He almost spat out the tea. Those unnerving blue eyes were once again trained on him.

_What have I done to annoy him?_ Hiroaki knew his fear was irrational, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something about him was irritating Battousai. The hitokiri was the _last_ person Hiroaki wanted to offend. 

"Hiroaki-san," Battousai's voice was low and soft, like velvet, but Hiroaki almost jumped. He swallowed, hot tea scalding the back of his throat. He hadn't been aware that Battousai knew his name. He cursed the bad luck which had led to his lateness. Had he made it back earlier, there would have been more space in the dining room; he would have sat somewhere else.

It was a lesson he would remember for next time, if he survived.

"Suman…" He began to apologise, but was silenced by Battousai's sharp look.

"It appears," Battousai rested the chopsticks on his empty bowl, "that you have rice stuck to your chin."

"Huh?" Hiroaki's hand shot up to his face, and his fingers met a soft clump. Battousai rose, in that disturbing soundless manner he had, and gave a single nod.

Then he was gone, and it was as if he had never been there at all.

**Author's note:** Pfft, I don't know; this was just a random idea that popped into my head. Sort-of humourous, I suppose. Nothing better to do on a rainy day than sit at home and write pointless one-shots.


	2. They Disappear

Hiroaki ate breakfast with his friends, and was glad to be able to enjoy their coarse humour and loose jibes. It was such a contrast to the unease he had felt the night before. Once or twice he snuck a glance to his left, taking in the still figure sitting in the corner. Battousai's swords rested at his side; his eyes were calm blue. At one point he looked across to meet Hiroaki's gaze. Hiroaki quickly averted his eyes, embarrassed.

He felt ashamed at the way he had reacted the previous night, having had no choice but to sit next to the hitokiri at dinner. He had assumed Battousai was annoyed at him, but all Battousai had done was to point out that Hiroaki had a clump of rice stuck to his chin.

_Idiot_. Hiroaki reached up to his chin, remembering his surprise at feeling the soft ball that had been lodged there. In reality, he should be thankful to Battousai, who had saved him from potential taunting.

But he had allowed thoughts of rumours and hearsay to cloud his mind. Why was he so afraid of the hitokiri, anyway? Battousai was still a boy really, a youth of no more than fifteen. Hiroaki wondered how he could allow someone three years his junior to intimidate him.

He had once heard one of the older men describe Battousai in action; his mission had been to assassinate a prominent samurai lord with close ties to the shogun. This particular samurai was always well guarded, even though he was said to be a master of the Ko-Jigen Ryu style, and one of the best swordsmen in Japan.

As the story goes, the lord had surrounded himself with no more than six bodyguards as he made his way through the Gion district. Once they turned away from the main streets, heading back towards the river…

"_**He**__ appeared out of the shadows, like a spirit. The bodyguards surrounded their lord, all six of them poised and ready to defend. I'd been sent to deal with the mess afterward, but right then I wasn't really sure exactly __**whose**__ mess I'd be cleaning up. Seven on one, it looked like Battousai was outmatched._

'_**For the sake of the new era, I must have your deaths.**__' His voice split the slience, and all of a sudden I wasn't so sure. There was a quiet certainty in those words that made my hairs stand on end. I got the feeling those men were as good as dead._

_And I wasn't wrong. I blinked, the bodyguards rushed forward, and I breathed out. Three of them down already. I stared, and Battousai continued to dance around them. It really is like watching a spirit, or a demon. His blade moves so fast that one minute it's slicing some poor fellow in half and the next, it's in another man's gut. It didn't take him long to deal with the other three bodyguards. _

_Their boss stood there, trembling, his eyes wide. He'd drawn his sword but before he had a chance to do anything, Battousai had stepped forward and sliced him clean down the middle. Blood went everywhere. I'd never seen anything like it!_

_That was it. Three breaths for me, and it was all over. Battousai flicked the blood from his blade and turned, not even looking at us. "Please take care of this," he said, then he was gone._

_Cold as winter ice, that kid. Gives me the creeps."_

And that was how Hiroaki had heard of Battousai. He had been quite startled to learn that the terrifying shadow assassin and the mild-mannered red haired youth were one and the same. He almost couldn't believe what he had heard. Surely the tale had been exaggerated.

"Hey Hiroaki, why so quiet?"

"Uh, Yusuke-san, I was just lost in thought."

Hiroaki's companion stood and patted him on the back. "Well don't sit there and stare for too long, kid. Iizuka's waiting for you."

"Yes, I forgot!" Hiroaki hurried to finish his rice, savouring the sticky, pungent _natto_. The acting commander had requested his presence after breakfast. Hiroaki wondered what it could be about. Perhaps he would be required to report on last night's events.

He found Iizuka in the courtyard. The lanky man was leaning against a post, his eyes squinted, facing the harsh, morning sun.

"Iizuka-san." Hiroaki made a small bow as the man turned, regarding him with a narrowed gaze. Despite Iizuka's role as acting commander in Katsura-san's absence, Hiroaki felt at ease in the man's presence. He exuded a sense of relaxed confidence and Hiroaki had often seen him sharing a joke with the others.

"Hiroaki-san." Iizuka nodded, acknowledging him. "Heard you had a bit of a tough time last night; you sure ended up a bit far from home."

"Uh, well…" Hiroaki began to explain, but Iizuka laughed and shook his head.

"Never mind, kid, you did exactly what I would have done in that situation. Better to run when you're outnumbered, huh?"

"I suppose." Hiroaki wished he'd had enough confidence in his abilities to stand his ground.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," admonished Iizuka. "Now listen, starting tonight, I've got a job for you that's going to be a bit different. You won't be going off to skirmish with the Shinsengumi for a while anyway."

"Yes." Hiroaki tried to conceal his surprise. A new job? Was he being relegated to lesser tasks? Iizuka must have read the worry on his face, for he clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Don't worry, it's not like we're demoting you or anything. Actually this is one of the most important jobs, and I've decided to share it amongst the men. You won't have to do it all the time."

"I understand." Hiroaki wasn't sure of any other jobs the men were required to do – aside from fighting or acting as bodyguards. "But Iizuka-san, may I ask what this job involves?"

Iizuka laughed. "Better I show you. Meet here tonight, after dinner."

"Yes." Hiroaki nodded, and made another small bow. "Thank-you." He was burning with curiosity over exactly _what_ it was Iizuka had in mind, but he would need to wait until tonight.

* * *

As Hiroaki sat, he noticed that Battousai was absent from the dining room. So the hitokiri had eaten his dinner elsewhere? Or perhaps he was out on an assignment. Hiroaki shuddered, trying to imagine the slight young man at work. He couldn't.

"So Iizuka's got a new job for you, Hiroaki-san?" One of the other younger fighters, a lad from Nara called Yashi, sat next to him, and was busy filling his bowl with rice.

"Yes. But he hasn't told me what I'm supposed to do, yet." Hiroaki found that his stomach was a ball of nervous tension; he had no appetite.

"Hmm." Yashi looked at him with still, serious eyes. "You know, I heard tell they were in need of an extra minder."

"Minder?" Hiroaki almost choked.

"Oh, don't look so shocked, Hiroaki-san. At first it was just Iizuka and some other guy, but lately the carnage has been getting too much to handle, now that everyone's stepped up their security. All of Kyoto's gone paranoid about getting assassinated."

"Carnage?" A heavy sensation settled into the pit of Hiroaki's stomach. There was probably a _very_ good reason as to why Battousai hadn't joined them for dinner. He put down his bowl and leaned back, not in the least bit hungry.

"Sometimes six, seven, eight of them. I don't blame Iizuka for needing the extra set of eyes. And I don't envy you either, Hiroaki-san."

"At least you're honest, Yashi-san." Hiroaki stood, sighing. "I suppose I'd better go and find Iizuka."

"Good luck."

He found Iizuka in the same position as he had earlier this morning, but now it was moonlight that reflected off the whites of the man's eyes.

"Hurry up, Hiroaki."

"Wha…?" Hiroaki paused mid-sentence, as Iizuka was already walking away.

"No time to explain, but it's happening earlier than I expected. We're probably too late. I sent Toshiro up ahead, but you should come and see anyway."

Iizuka was striding across the courtyard and making for the back entrance. Hiroaki had no choice but to follow. As soon as he was on the street, Iizuka broke into a jog. Hiroaki matched his pace and they darted through narrow streets and alleys, until they were close to the river. Hiroaki recognised this area as being close to the Nishiki market. Streets that bustled with activity in the daytime were now deserted. They rounded a corner, into a blind alley. Iizuka skidded to a halt, panting. Hiroaki gasped.

The ground was strewn with bodies, but Hiroaki could not count them. There was too much blood. It splattered the walls of nearby buildings and cut violent, dark arcs across the pavement. The mass of human flesh was a hideous jumble; limbs were severed, faces and torsos cut at gruesome angles.

It was too much for Hiroaki to bear. He bent over and retched.

"It's okay, kid." Iizuka patted him on the back. "Everyone does that the first time round, right, Toshiro-san?"

"Yeah."

Hiroaki straightened, and froze as a figure peeled from the back wall, materializing from the shadows. "It's not pretty, but he gets the job done."

"He?"

"Himura-san, in case you haven't already guessed. You might better know him as Battousai."

"Oh." Hiroaki blinked, trying to process this information. He couldn't stop staring at the disaster that lay before him.

_Battousai's name is… Himura?_ He hadn't even known.

"Everything go to plan, Toshiro-san?" Iizuka squatted beside the bodies, trying to make out features amongst the sprawled limbs and bloodied clothes.

"His sword's sharper than ever. I almost didn't make it in time." The whites of Toshiro's eyes flashed in the darkness, and Hiroaki saw a small glint as he bared his teeth. "Cunning of him to draw them into this little alley. It was over before I could blink. Yamato hadn't hired the most skilled bodyguards, it seems. Although there doesn't seem to be much difference; they all go down the same in the end."

"The note's there?"

"Yeah, I left the note as soon as he was gone. He didn't even spare me a glance this time. Jumped up to the rooftops. It's a convenient way to disappear, I suppose."

"And he always knows where you are, even when you try your best to hide." Iizuka grinned and turned to Hiroaki. "Tell you what, kid, I'll give you a _ryo_ if you ever get through an assassination without Battousai noticing you."

"Um, Iizuka-san," Hiroaki couldn't stand it any longer. The smell of blood was fogging his thoughts, and his stomach still heaved, threatening to empty its contents once more. He felt sick, and Iizuka and Toshiro's light-hearted manner was beginning to annoy him. How could they discuss mass slaughter as if it were nothing more than a joke? "What exactly _is_ it that you want me to do?"

Iizuka raised his eyebrows, and then the smile disappeared. His expression became serious, and he leaned closer to Hiroaki.

"Hiroaki-san, what you see here is probably one of the biggest setbacks the Shogunate has received in quite some time. This guy, Hideki Yamato, was about to close on a big arms deal with the _gai-jin_. I'd say his death would buy us enough time to ensure the Bakufu never sees those guns."

"Oh." Hiroaki had never really considered the motives behind an assassination.

"You might hear all the stories about Battousai being a ruthless killer and all," continued Iizuka, as he looked up and down the alley, taking in the bloody mess, "and seeing something like this, I don't blame you. But just remember that one hit like this can do as much damage to the Bakufu as ten of your night-time tangles with the Shinsengumi. Himura-san's got a job to do, just like you."

Iizuka waved one hand across the scene, and Hiroaki fought to keep his expression neutral. His head felt too light; he was unsteady on his feet.

"Speaking of jobs," continued Iizuka, "that's what I was coming to. From now on you're part of our intelligence. You'll be attending the assassinations and checking to see that all goes to plan. Because it's Himura, you probably won't have any problems, but we need someone to watch and report back to Katsura-san or myself. It's very important. Sometimes there will be more than one hit in a night, and it'd be pretty much impossible to keep up with Himura once he moves across town. So we need more than one set of eyes. But in most cases, if there's only one scheduled, I'd like the two of you to go together, just in case you run into any trouble."

"Y… yes." Gulped Hiroaki. He had known this was coming, but it wasn't until Iizuka said the words that reality started to sink in. He would be sent to watch Battousai's work; to _check_ on the hitokiri. Hiroaki had seen men slain before; he had already been involved in a number of fights with Shogunate loyalists and the Shinsengumi, but somehow, this was different. To see so much death, in such a short time, in this narrow alley; it was almost obscene. He felt glad that his stomach was now empty.

Toshiro, moved to stand beside Hiroaki. "Don't worry," he murmured. "It's hard at first, but after a while, you get used to it. And most of the time I'll be with you anyway."

Hiroaki nodded. "Thank-you." A strange thought came to him and for a brief moment he wondered which he would prefer: hiding in the bushes in the cold rain for hours, being stalked by Shinsengumi, or _this._

He shook his head, pushing away the idea. He, too, was a soldier, and he would do what was required of him.

As Iizuka and Toshiro peeled away from the scene, heading for the main street, Hiroaki followed. A light rain began to fall, small drops caressing the faces of those who had fallen. Rivulets of water began to run, diluting the blood, washing it into cracks in the pavement.

_After a while, you get used to it._

Hiroaki doubted that he ever would.

* * *

**Author's note:**

Well I admit, I am going through a Bakumatsu phase at the moment. I think it's because I watched the OVAs for the first time in years and I'm getting all nostalgic. It's unhealthy, but oh well. So I went and found yet another angle on this well tried, tested and analysed scenario… sigh. Will it ever end?

Thank you to those who reviewed and enjoyed this when it was a one-shot. Some of your comments also helped get me thinking and one day I got an idea on how to expand. Poor old Kenshin cops a lot of flack from those mean soldiers, doesn't he? Typical 15 year old: "no-one understands me!"

I guess I'd better include a glossary-thing for those bits of Japanese I throw in from time to time, in case you're not already aware of the meanings (and I'm a geek):

Bakufu: The Shogunate.

Gai-Jin: What the Japanese call foreigners. The term has taken on various positive and negative connotations in the past. The more politically correct version used by the Japanese media nowadays is 'Gai-koku-jin'; 'outside-country-person'.

Ko-Jigen Ryu: a branch of the high speed Jigen-Ryu style. Jigen-Ryu is known for its emphasis on the first-strike. Jigen-Ryu teachings state that a second strike is not even to be considered.

Natto: Fermented soybean… stuff. Consists of soybeans in a pungent, sticky gel-like substance; when eaten, this 'gel' has a consistency similar to raw egg. Japanese either love it or hate it. It's just one of those things.


	3. Missing Things

Hiroaki opened his eyes, and stared up at the ceiling. He blinked, adjusting to the dim light. A gentle snore came from his roommate, Fujimori, who was snug in his futon. Hiroaki could just make out the dark outlines of the roof beams above him. He took a deep breath and stretched his legs, surprised.

It was early. Too early to be awake. He was not one for waking in the small hours of the morning. Too often, Fujimori would nudge him awake, and blinking and groggy, he would be hit with the dusty morning sunlight as the screens were pushed aside.

But now he was awake.

Hiroaki closed his eyes and tried to regain the feeling of heavy warmth; he could sleep for some time yet.

_After a while, you'll get used to it._

Blood ran down the inside of his eyelids, pooling in cracks and crevices. A tangle of bodies appeared, hacked limbs and arms, gruesome. Forgotten in the midnight rain. Oh how he wanted to run.

Hiroaki's eyes snapped open. He lay there, breathing softly, staring up at indistinct, shadowy figures. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he knew it wasn't going to happen.

He rested awhile, thinking, then, unable to stand it any longer, he threw off the thick covers and stood, padding across the room, his tabi shod feet noiseless on the wooden floor. He tiptoed down the hall, shivering in the cool morning air. The soft sounds of sleeping men followed him; the izakaya was still slumbering.

The courtyard was shrouded in a thin morning mist. Dew clung to the few trees and shrubs, and as Hiroaki exhaled, he could feel his breath turning to vapour. Everything was still, and quiet. He had forgotten what it felt like to be awake at this hour, welcoming the new day while it was still nothing but a slight change in the grey sky.

No-one else was awake.

_Why can't I sleep?_

Frustrated, Hiroaki shook his head and sat on the engawa, crossing his legs. He breathed slowly and tried to clear his head of all thoughts. His heart started to slow, and he felt the calm blanket of meditation settle upon him. Too often, his mind was full of vivid images, and he could only touch the outer edge of the vast stillness that lay within him. Today, he was able to stand a little nearer to the centre, but Hiroaki knew he was still not close enough. He wondered if he would ever reach _that_ state.

Eyes closed, he sat, his breathing timed to the slow rhythm of water dripping from the roof, a faint sound that barely registered. In the darkness, he was safe.

His world fell apart.

Hiroaki gasped as his concentration was shattered. He had been immersed in the stillness, detached, his consciousness beginning to merge with the delicate early morning rhythm; the soft, natural pace of the world.

Then it was gone.

Irritated, he rubbed his eyes. It was very rare for him to come close to such a state, and he had lost it so easily.

_What is wrong with me?_

A tiny, almost imperceptible movement made him stare through the dim light. There, across the courtyard.

_Red?_

A figure was standing there, looking at him. Hiroaki could make out red hair. He shivered, realising he had been watched for some time. Battousai nodded, and made his way towards the side gate, disappearing in and out of the fine mist like a wraith. Then he was gone.

Hiroaki blinked. What was Battousai doing, awake at this hour?

_Another assignment?_ He shuddered, rubbing the gooseflesh on his bare arms. The cold morning was not helping this sense of unease. No; Iizuka would have informed them if Battousai had an assassination scheduled. There were certain things to be accounted for.

_Where is he going?_ A burning curiosity took hold of Hiroaki. He felt the sudden urge to follow the small, silent figure of whom he had caught only a fleeting glimpse. But it was cold, and too quiet; Hiroaki knew Battousai would sense his presence and disappear into the tangle of narrow alleys or escape to the rooftops.

Some things were better left alone. He shivered and sat, contemplating the quiet garden. He tried to reach for the centre of calm he had felt before, but it was gone. The morning mist was starting to clear, the sky growing lighter with every waking breath.

Soon, it would be daytime.

* * *

Battousai was back at breakfast time. Hiroaki snuck a glance at the pale red-haired boy, who was seated in the corner. His expression was blank, but it was strange; it almost felt as if the lethal, silent tension which usually accompanied the hitokiri was lessened somewhat.

Battousai's hair was tied back into a high knot, slightly damp. His pale fingers eased the chopsticks back and forth. Hiroaki tried to imagine the same hands covered in blood.

"Not eating today, Hiroaki-san?" Toshiro was busy shovelling rice into his mouth. Hiroaki looked up at the large man with baleful eyes.

"I'm never really hungry in the morning," he murmured, still watching Battousai from the corner of his eye. Toshiro followed his gaze.

"Don't get too curious." Toshiro put his bowl down and gestured to the serving girl for another helping. "We're his observers, nothing more. It wouldn't be healthy for you to start getting all personal about things, kid."

"I'm not worried about that," snapped Hiroaki. He rested his chopsticks and dropped his hand to his knee, realising that he was trembling. "As you said, it's a job, nothing more." He glared at Toshiro, who offered his bowl, watching as it was filled with rice. The big man raised one thick eyebrow and turned back to Hiroaki. His tone softened. "Look, I know it's tough, but you can't think too deeply about things like this. You won't survive, otherwise."

Hiroaki nodded, and stared down at his food. His mouth felt dry, and he had no desire to eat. A cold sensation settled upon him, and he looked up, expecting to lock eyes with Battousai.

_He was looking at me, wasn't he?_

But the slight young man sat with his eyes lowered, alone in the corner of the room.

_I'm imagining things. Toshiro-san is right. I need to be stronger._

Hiroaki wondered how the hitokiri could sit like that, so calm, as if he were at the centre of his own, silent world.

"Oh yeah," Toshiro stood, and nodded towards the door. "Iizuka wanted to meet with us after breakfast. I guess that means we're working tonight."

"I understand." Hiroaki watched his partner leave, and forced himself to chew. Battousai still hadn't moved. Outside, the mist had cleared, and the thick silence of the early morning was long since gone. A sliver of dusty light pierced through a gap in the screens, illuminating the side of Hiroaki's face. He swallowed, and straightened, ignoring Battousai. This nervous feeling; it was nonsense. Tonight, he resolved, he would do what was asked of him, and walk away, as dispassionate as _that_ boy, who seemed to have ice in his veins.

It was a job, nothing more.

* * *

The largest one, the bodyguard, was the first to go down. Hiroaki's eyes widened as a thin spray of blood hit the wall opposite from them.

Step. Slash. Turn. Thrust. It was almost too fast for the eye to follow. Two more now lay beside the first, their eyes open, fixed expressions of shock plastered on faces; cheeks bloodied, flesh rended, bodies sprawled across the narrow street.

And still the red-haired assassin ran, meeting trembling steel with his own implacable blade. A parry, a thrust, and he flew forward, katana angled, tearing through artery and sinew and bone.

A head rolled. The target. He followed through, blood drenched arm coming around in a fluid swing. A sharp flick of the blade, and the dark liquid clinging to it came free, leaving a violent spray across the cold, smooth pavement. The katana slid back into its sheath, and the silence was once again deafening. Hiroaki could hear the blood hammering loud in his head.

It had all been one long, connected movement. Battousai didn't even pause to gather his breath or size up the enemy. Shouted threats meant nothing. Large or small, skilled or amateur, it was of no consequence. Hiroaki remembered something Toshiro had said the night before: _"they all go down the same in the end."_ It was true. The hitokiri's blade did not discriminate.

He looked up at his partner and saw that Toshiro's face had gone pale.

_So you're not indifferent to all that blood yet, Toshiro-san._

Hiroaki realised his knuckles were white, his fingers clenched around the crumpled note he had penned earlier. Heaven's justice. Lightning struck down those who had sinned.

"It is done." Battousai's low voice split his concentration, and Hiroaki fought to stop his hand from trembling. He had thought they were well concealed. "Please take care of the rest." The hitokiri was looking at them from the other side of the street, his words barely reaching them. Something was different. It was the eyes; Hiroaki hadn't realised that they changed. Now they were yellow, like embers in the shadows.

Then Battousai turned, and walked away, melding with the darkness. He soon disappeared from sight. Hiroaki's breathing was heavy.

"Give me the note, Hiroaki-san." Toshiro appeared to have collected himself; a blank look had wiped all trace of horror from his face. Hiroaki nodded and passed him the paper, straightening it. Bile was rising in his throat; he fought to keep it down, fought to keep his expression neutral. If that _kid_ could be so cold, then he could at least keep his composure. The job had been quick, and without complication. Iizuka would be pleased.

"Hmm, seems like Hanada had an extra man with him. There were supposed to be three." Toshiro stepped out from behind the wall, treading lightly around the corpses, careful not to let any blood reach his feet. "Don't worry, kid." He forced a grin, a flash of teeth in the moonlight. "They aren't always this bad. Sometimes you just gotta watch him slip in and out of a place; see what happens when he leaves. Just wait till you get to hide and watch chaos."

"Sounds like fun." Hiroaki kept his tone flat, and Toshiro let out a short, barking laugh. "You learn fast, Hiroaki-san," he muttered. "Next time, I bet you won't even blink an eye."

Hiroaki nodded, forced a grin and tried to forget about burning, amber eyes. Above them, the sky was clear, save for a few wispy clouds scudding across the moon. The chill breeze pushed them along, their shadows dancing fleetingly upon fallen men.

"Let's go." Toshiro was already walking. "We still have to report."

"Yes." Hiroaki nodded and fell into step behind him, feeling weary.

_No problems encountered. The target is dead._ They would leave out the silent, deadly dance, the hiss and grunt of startled men, the sharp, desperate yell of one about to die. Dark blood was pooling, drying.

It was enough.

* * *

**Author's note:**

Thank you to those who have reviewed and been receptive to this little idea. Your thoughts are always appreciated. But oh my, I guess things have taken a turn for the dark and dramatic all of a sudden… it always depends on what I'm listening to at the time. Never fear; things should lighten up later on, it's not all doom and gloom.

Apologies for the delay in updating; the nature of my course is such that I get weeks and weeks of intense workload with few breaks in between, but now I have a small holiday, so I can relax and write (and read) a bit. It is SO nice to be lazy ^^.


	4. Room for Escape

The izakaya was full of Ishin soldiers. Men jostled for space, sitting and standing, teasing one another and chattering loudly. The place was doing a brisk trade tonight. Hiroaki blinked as Toshiro sloshed more sake into his cup.

"Uh, Toshiro-san, I think this will be my last drink for…"

"Nonsense, Hiroaki-chan." Toshiro beamed, his cheeks flushed with warmth. "We don't have any business tomorrow, or the next day. Isn't it better to enjoy yourself while you can? I bet there's a nice girl or two we can find later on; oh look, here's Yusuke and Yashi!"

Hiroaki offered a weak smile as their companions sat down. His ears were starting to feel hot, and he knew they would be burning red. He had never tolerated his drink too well. A pleasant warmth settled into his belly, and he felt himself relax. "I suppose that might be something to look forward to." It was good to be able to forget the tension and worry that surrounded him during the day. This was a place far removed from the reality of their work. Hiroaki was beginning to understand why so many of the men frequented the izakaya.

"Been here long? " Yashi reached for the sake jug. "Sorry we're late – we got held up. A rabble of Bakufu soldiers bumped into us on our way back. We tangled, got away. Luckily, we didn't see any of the Shinsengumi this time."

"That's not a problem." Toshiro clapped his large hands together. "Main thing is, you're here, and not a scratch on you. Another day alive is another day to enjoy the rest of your life." He laughed, a dense, booming sound, so different to the thin, nervous snicker Hiroaki had heard earlier, when they were shadowing Battousai.

_Shadowing the shadow assassin himself… _

"Hey Hiroaki, what you smiling at?" The other three shot him a curious look. "Something funny?"

"Oh, it's nothing." Hiroaki sipped his sake, his expression becoming thoughtful. "I was just remembering something, that's all."

"It's a girl, isn't it?" Yusuke elbowed him in the ribs. Hiroaki winced. "Thinking about your lover, eh?"

"N… No, that's not it!" Hiroaki felt the heat in his ears spread to his cheeks. "I don't have a lover."

"Well it's time we found you a lady, then." Toshiro stood up and gestured to one of the serving girls. She made her way over, a sly look on her face. Toshiro whispered something to her, and slid a coin into her hand. "Don't worry lad, I know the ladies round here. Lovely girls."

"Uh, Toshiro-san, really…" Hiroaki held up his hands in protest, but the big man was having none of it. Both Yusuke and Yashi were smiling broadly. Hiroaki wanted to kick them.

"So am I the only one who gets a 'lady' then?" He tried to deflect the attention away. He was feeling much more uncomfortable than he should. "What about you _lads_?"

"Hey hey," Yusuke laughed and laid a hand on Hiroaki's shoulders. " We're just teasing. But you know it's true; we all need some female company to keep us in line from time to time. It's not healthy, otherwise."

His companions nodded sagely. Hiroaki was forced to agree. There were nights when he lay alone in his futon, longing for the silken feel of a woman's skin and the soft scent of fragrance. But with regards to these things, he had always been a little… reserved.

The serving girl returned, and gave Hiroaki a long look, before bending to whisper in Toshiro's ear. The man smiled in approval, and dropped another coin into her palm. The girl smiled. "More sake, Toshiro-sama? Perhaps you and your companions would like to enjoy a few more drinks before visiting Shimbara."

"Why not, my dear?" Toshiro winked, and the other two nodded in agreement.

Hiroaki raised one eyebrow. "Toshiro-san, you mean for us to visit _yujo_?"

"He's got one particular favourite," teased Yashi, and Hiroaki winced. "Apparently, she can do things no other woman…"

"Ahem!" The big man coughed, and a laugh escaped Hiroaki. His unease was starting to disappear. The sake certainly helped. He looked at Toshiro, but was surprised to see the expression on his fellow minder's face. Utter seriousness. His gaze was distant, directed elsewhere.

Toshiro slunk a bit lower in his chair, eyes darting about the room. "How long has _he_ been there?" he muttered, gaze flickering over to the far corner. Hiroaki turned his head a fraction and saw a familiar silhouette.

"Battousai?" he croaked? The hitokiri sat alone, and even in the crowded izakaya, there was a stillness around him.

"He comes often." Yashi accepted another jug of sake, as the serving girl returned. "Just drinks, by himself. No-one bothers him, obviously."

"Often?" Hiroaki spared a glance at the lone figure. What a shock of red hair, so vivid and startling, with the owner hunched over, trying to appear inconspicuous. "Just by himself?"

"Who could keep him company, so sad and serious like that… not to mention, well… you know…" Yusuke was swirling his sake between two calloused fingers, contemplative.

"You know, what?" Hiroaki couldn't help it; he was intrigued.

"Well, what kind of things would a guy like that talk about? All he deals in is killing, and death. What kind of life is that?"

"Hmm." Hiroaki nodded, and allowed his eyes to drift over to the hitokiri once again. The slight youth certainly didn't look like any killer he knew; with that thick, feminine red hair and delicate frame, Battousai appeared almost childlike. But he too was sitting in the izakaya, a bottle of sake by his side. Even the hitokiri needed a place to escape from his work.

"Some escape," he muttered, under his breath.

"What are you saying?" demaded Toshiro, a disapproving look on his face. "Listen Hiroaki-san, I've told you before. It's no use worrying about the affairs of others. We all fight on the same side, even if our roles are a little… different. Let it go."

"I'm not worried about anything." Hiroaki let out a sigh, annoyed. "I'm just curious, that's all. I mean, what separates him from us, except for that freakish ability? If he wasn't so damn good at killing, do you think he'd be sitting here, with us?"

"Probably. But the fact is that he's a prodigy with the sword, and the sword is an instrument of death. Anyone born with that kind of talent will end up being a murderer, sooner or later. It's just his fate."

"Seems like a cruel fate to me." Hiroaki lowered his eyes, having felt a tingle along his spine. Somehow, Battousai was aware of their scrutiny.

_Murderer?_ Toshiro's judgement was too harsh. Battousai didn't kill indiscriminately; his victims were always chosen at the discretion of another. _Think of the bigger picture_. Hard to do so, when blood was spilt and you were so close.

"Hey, come on." Yusuke shook Hiroaki, the gesture a little too rough. "We're supposed to be enjoying ourselves. How about we have another round then head off to Shimbara? I get the feeling Toshiro's been doing some planning… there's a surprise in store for you, Hiroaki-san."

"Uh, sure." Hiroaki gulped the rest of his sake, feeling the liquor burn the back of his throat. A niggling voice at the back of his mind warned him he would be paying for this tomorrow. His ears burned; the room felt rather warm.

"That's the spirit!" Toshiro poured him another. "Kanpai!" The boys drank their sake, but Hiroaki's attention had turned elsewhere. In Battousai's direction.

A dark stain had spread across the hitokiri's navy gi. His face was wet, the long crimson fringe dripping. Their serving girl scrambled at his feet, trying to pick up the pieces of the shattered sake jug.

The other three froze, and followed Hiroaki's gaze. An uneasy silence had descended across the room. If it was anyone else, the situation might have been comical.

"I'm very sorry," whispered the girl, not daring to look up. "It was…"

"I know. He pushed you."

"Huh?"

"Here. Let me help you." Battousai knelt and began to pick up small porcelain shards.

"Oh!" The waitress froze, her face a mask of wide-eyed shock. "No, you shouldn't please. It's nothing. I can manage."

"It's all right. Look, it's nearly finished."

"Ah! Thank you very much!" Blushing, she gave him a deep bow and scurried away. Battousai stood, and wiped his face with his dry sleeve. He turned, his attention directed towards a man seated behind. The entire group had gone silent. Hiroaki was surprised to find himself holding his breath, one hand on his sword hilt. Tension made the air thick.

"I don't know what possessed you, but if you lay a hand on her again, I will be forced to intervene." The hitokiri's voice was soft, but the intent was unmistakable. Hiroaki sat still, transfixed. Surely this idiot would apologise. What had he been thinking?

Battousai stood with his hands hanging by his sides, not even touching his sword hilt. He didn't need to. Even though he was drenched in sake, his damp gi clinging to him, emphasising his slight frame, he somehow carried an aura of menace.

The object of his ire was a short but muscular man, with greying hair tied in a high knot and about four days growth of beard. He wobbled as he stood. "I know who you are," he spat, as the other members in his party shied away. "I ain't afraid of you. One piece of advice I'd give is for you to mind your own business. Bitch deserved what she got."

"Deserved." It was not a question, but a statement, with more than a hint of irony. Hiroaki almost saw a wry smile curving Battousai's lips. But that was just his imagination.

"Exactly. Which is why you shouldn't interfere if you don't know all the facts. I'm sure you'd have done the same thing if she'd disrespected you. Would've been a time when she would have gotten a lot worse than just…"

"I'm not interested in your reminiscing." Battousai cut the man short with his blunt reply. "Do not even think about laying a hand on her." He turned his back, the conversation over. The man flushed red.

"Brat!" He spat on the floor, seething. "It's the same with all of you. No respect. You don't understand the meaning of class, or tradition. Just because this war is going on, you think things are really going to change? You think _you_ can change things? Bullshit!"

_Idiot_. Hiroaki saw the man's arm tauten and clench around the hilt of his katana. He blinked, and found himself striding across the room, breathing heavily. The fat old fool was going to get himself killed.

"Don't," he breathed as he reached the man's side. "Don't even think about it."

"What the…?"

"Look, just shut up. We don't want any blood shed here." Hiroaki placed one hand over the man's arm. "Let it go."

Battousai hadn't spared them another glance. He had walked through the doorway and disappeared into the darkened street. His opponent wrenched free of Hiroaki's grip and spun, fumes of sake rolling off his breath. "What do you think you're doing? I wasn't going to hurt him… much."

"You've got to be kidding me." Alcohol had made Hiroaki's tongue loose. "I just saved your life. It's a shame you're too stupid to even realise."

"You bastard…"

"Don't." Hiroaki felt the anger rising in him. Fat old fool with no understanding of the situation. He wanted to punch the man. To his surprise, the samurai backed off.

"Lucky we're in a public place, or I'd have had your head," he whispered, shooting Hiroaki a final, baleful glare.

_Stupid. Battousai would have had yours first._ Hiroaki realised he was trembling. He made his way back to his companions. Toshiro was no longer smiling.

"That was brave, kid. What the hell were you thinking, going up like that…"

"I wasn't thinking." Hiroaki shook his head, trying to clear his mind. The sake wasn't helping.

"Ah." Toshiro fell silent, and the four Ishin comrades sat there for a while, emptying the last bottle of sake. After a while, Yashi sighed. "Hey, let's go to Shimbari. Place like this, there aren't any women around. It's why these things happen."

The others nodded, but Hiroaki was shaking his head. "You guys go ahead. I think I'll go back to the inn and sleep it off. I've had a bit too much for that kind of thing."

For once, Toshiro didn't argue.

* * *

**Author's note:** I'm sorry for being so slow. My work/study consumes me. I basically have no life. So this is my current rambling little escapist project. Hopefully I'll get time to work on the others. Thanks to those of you who left such kind comments last time round. They are always noted and appreciated.

_Some words:_

_Yujo – ladies of pleasure_

_Shimbari – old red light district in Kyoto_


	5. Words Take Hold

As he stepped onto the narrow street, distancing himself from the clamour of the izakaya, Hiroaki felt the chill in the air. It hit him like a cold slap in the face, and the sake-haze clouding his thoughts cleared a little. The sky was clear, the stars glistening pinpricks around the grey moon. He breathed easier, free of stifling warmth and the ingrained smells of alcohol and cooking.

Still, he was far from sober. He noticed it in the way his feet felt heavy, his footsteps louder than usual. His breathing was deep and laboured, and a warm flush ran up his neck.

The street was empty, the dull plod of his feet the only sound, bouncing off blank walls and closed windows. Mingled laughter and shouts from the izakaya grew distant as he walked further. Hiroaki reached the end of the small alley and turned into Sanjo-dori. With the stores closed and no people milling about, the main thoroughfare seemed much wider. There was not a being in sight, and now he felt exposed.

After a few unsteady steps, he had crossed the road. He walked close to the buildings, which were fringed by a thin strip of shadow. Now that he had become accustomed to the cold, the fuzz in his head returned, blunting his vision. Dark shapes and lines blurred, becoming an impenetrable mess of grey and black. His stomach tightened, threatening to rebel.

He was more drunk than he had thought. Perhaps walking home alone had not been the wisest of ideas.

But after that incident, with his nerves frayed, any hope of enjoying the evening was lost. He recalled the way his heart had hammered afterwards, the full extent of what he had just done hitting him.

_I intervened… when it was __**Battousai's**__ argument!_

Foolish; what a foolish thing to do. He still couldn't understand what had driven him. The sake certainly had something to do with it, but he had never been one to stand up and make a fuss.

Perhaps it had been Battousai's low, menacing tone which had scared him. The potential for bloodshed had been there, swift death a distinct possibility. And the idiot who had pushed the serving girl had _no idea_ what he was provoking.

Hiroaki had seen it first hand; the end result was a spray of blood. There would be shouts, threats, frantic signs of life about to be stolen. You could take away all a man was, all he would ever amount to. Potential never realised; lost in an instant. It was a terrifying thing. Had Battousai ever considered this?

He must have.

But maybe Hiroaki had just suffered a moment of paranoia. There was no way the hitokiri would kill a man in a crowded, public place. Throughout the confrontation, Himura had been quiet, reserved, controlled.

As he always was.

Still, the unspoken threat had been there. It was in the cold, expressionless set of Himura's features, reflected through those strange eyes shot through with a wolf's amber. Hiroaki had never met another whose eyes changed like that. They were the only sign to betray the ebb and flow of Battousai's emotions. The only feature he couldn't control.

Hiroaki shuddered. It was the _absence_ of expression that made Himura seem all the more dangerous. For that was the way he appeared when he killed. The hits were calculated; crimes without passion.

Hiroaki could not understand how Battousai remained unaffected.

The first time he had slain a man, the memory of it had remained strong and uncomfortable for weeks. He could not forget the feeling of warm liquid and visceral matter spreading across his hands, along with that _smell_; fresh blood and body fluids, rich and metallic and pungent at the same time.

His kill had not been smooth and quick, like the boy-assassin's. Hiroaki recalled the pain in his wounded side and the sweat lining his palms as he held the blade. One of his desperate, blind swings had finally connected, as if by accident, and his opponent had fallen onto him with a harsh cry. The fray surrounding him became muted, and he heard only life, escaping the body. He had pushed the corpse away, waves of revulsion sweeping through him.

For an eternity, he could not move. He had been shaking too much.

And for weeks afterwards, he had not slept well at all.

Since then, the kills had become easier, but they were always frantic; the result of quick, defensive thrusts in the heat of battle. He fought to preserve his own life. Such actions were _never_ premeditated. Hours later, he would find himself trembling as remnants of fear coursed through, needing release. And how the smell of blood would linger.

Hiroaki's thoughts dispersed as he staggered, his toe catching on a jagged paving stone. He put out a hand to steady himself, feeling for the wall. His tender stomach clenched, and he fought to keep from retching. Those unwanted memories, suppressed for so long, had floated to the surface with such ease. Part of him wished he had even a fraction of Battousai's composure.

_I've drunk too much; I'm becoming obsessive. _

_Stop thinking about it!_

He was still on the main road, and now he recognised the buildings; he was nearing the river. Soon, he would turn into one of the narrow side-alleys and cut across to Oike-dori, a parallel road. In contrast to the nightmare of twisted streets he had faced in the Kiyomizu district the other night, this part of Kyoto was easy to navigate.

_Even for intoxicated idiots like me._

He paused, taking a moment to note the soba stand to his right. It was shuttered; a hulking, dark shape. A wisp of cloud drifted across the moon, thickening the darkness. Hiroaki cursed all Kyoto street corners for looking so similar. Anyway, it shouldn't matter; he could cut through any of these side streets.

"Hiroaki-san."

The soft, unmistakable voice split the night. If Hiroaki's consciousness had not been dulled, he would have jumped. It took him a few, ragged breaths to register the source of the voice. It wasn't just his fanciful, unfettered imagination.

"Ba… Himura-san?"

Battousai was a slender apparition, masked by the shadows. Hiroaki could just make out the sharp curve of his topknot. A curt nod indicated he should follow into the pitch dark alley. Hiroaki hesitated, grasping for his thoughts; his _reason_.

_What is he doing?_

He failed to piece it together.

"Come _**now**__!"_ The urgency in Himura's voice made Hiroaki turn and follow before the doubts came crashing in.

Accentuated by the hitokiri's silent walk, his own footsteps had never sounded louder. As Battousai disappeared into the blackness, Hiroaki wondered whether the man was truly in front of him. Perhaps the sake was making him hallucinate.

"Stop."

Until a firm hand pushed him against the wall. No; Battousai was _very_ real. Hiroaki's heart threatened to burst through his sternum. The saliva drained from his throat, and his breath caught. He struggled to remain still, to keep his legs from disobeying. They were about to give way.

"Be quiet." Beside him, Battousai melded into the darkness. Again, the hitokiri became as nothing; Hiroaki could not hear the faintest whisper of a breath or detect even a glimmer of ki. His ears were filled only with the drumming of his own pulse.

_I'm going to die here_.

He shouldn't have done it; shouldn't have involved himself in an argument that wasn't his own. Apart from that misguided old fool, _he_ had been the only one stupid enough to invoke Battousai's anger.

Hiroaki shut his eyes and tensed, waiting for pain.

Silence.

Then it came, floating to them through the still night air. Faint at first, then louder, accompanied by shuffling feet. The sound of voices. Hiroaki breathed again. Enemies? Battousai would have sensed them long before he could.

_Stupid; of course you're not going to die._

"Where is he?"

Hiroaki recognised the man Battousai had confronted in the izakaya. His voice was thick, distorted with anger.

"Maybe he didn't go this way. Perhaps we should return, Tojo-san. I don't think we'll find him now." Unease clouded the second speaker's words.

"We'll find him. Insolent brat needs to be taught a lesson. So does the tall one who butted in. We'll find them." Tojo's exclamation was laboured and heavy, almost slurred. "Taking me for an idiot, with everyone listening…"

"But…"

"What?"

"I don't know how much truth there is behind them, but you must have heard the rumours." Tojo's companion was by far the more sober of the two. Hiroaki glanced to his side, searching for a reaction from Battousai. He got nothing.

"Bah. Exaggerations and lies. Everyone in Kyoto's a killer these days. Some kid has a flashy sword technique, and all of a sudden he's some kind of demon. What rubbish!" Hiroaki heard the large man hawk and spit; a dirty, guttural noise.

Still, Battousai did not move. In the stillness of the small alley, the two of them stood, backs to the wall, listening. Hiroaki's joints stiffened; his muscles became taut. Anticipation shot through his limbs, freezing him in position; a sudden cold snap.

"There's no-one here, Tojo-san."

"They've probably gone the other way. Let's go."

The sound of footsteps grew muffled; their conversation became indistinct. Hiroaki felt as if his knees had crusted over, locking into place. Beside him, Himura remained still. Hiroaki's logic told him there was somebody standing there, but it felt as if he were alone in the darkness. The feeling skinned his nerves and made him want to shiver. With great effort, he suppressed the urge. It was so strange. Was Battousai a ghost?

The voices disappeared. Responding to some unseen signal, the hitokiri peeled himself from the wall, materializing from shadow. "I apologise for being so abrupt, Hiroaki-san. They were approaching fast. I had no time to explain."

"Oh." Hiroaki blinked, unable to hide his surprise. "You weren't going to confront them?"

"Not unless I had to. It wouldn't have ended well." Battousai's statement was so simple, yet Hiroaki was left with no doubt as to who would be worse off.

"Well thanks… for alerting me." Hiroaki pushed himself from the wall, feeling his joints loosen. His tension evaporated, leaving hollow relief.

_Even though you scared the bloody hell out of me!_ He almost spoke it, but bit his tongue in time. He didn't want to give Battousai even an inkling of exactly _what_ had terrified him. In the deep of the night, with only the Ishin Shishi's dreaded shadow assassin for company, Hiroaki's imagination had escaped. Whispered rumours and tales, usually enhanced by drink and a captive audience, had firmed into reality.

Embers of shame started to smoulder. In some ways, it was as the old fool had said: _kid has a flashy sword technique, and all of a sudden, he's some kind of demon. _Hiroaki had bought into that version of the truth.

But no demon he knew would hide in the shadows to avoid bloodshed. Nor would such a creature stick his neck out to rescue a lone passerby, and a drunk one at that.

_I must be going crazy. Better stay away from the sake for a while. _

"The Inn is not far from here, Hiroaki-san."

Hiroaki nodded, fighting to keep embarrassment from creeping onto his face. He looked up, unable to meet Battousai's gaze. The wisps of cloud had disappeared, leaving the sky clear. The thin, grey light cast by the moon revealed the hitokiri's features, composed as always. There was no trace of predatory amber.

Battousai began to walk. Now he did not bother to cling to the shadows. His steps were slow, measured. Hiroaki wondered how much he had drunk; there was no sign of unsteadiness in his gait.

After a moment, Hiroaki realised he was supposed to follow. He stayed behind, unable to bring himself to walk alongside the hitokiri. It didn't matter; Himura was not one to seek out small talk.

They moved in silence, an unlikely pair traversing the deserted streets, until they reached the Inn and Himura dismissed him with a curt _good night_. Left alone to seek out his bed, Hiroaki shook his head in wonder. The crippling fear from earlier was now an empty feeling in his stomach. A dull throb engulfed his head, and solid thoughts were elusive.

_Everyone in Kyoto is a killer these days._

Tonight had felt like an unsettling dream. He hoped sleep would take him away.

_

* * *

_

**Author's note:** So I suppose this story continues, taking a turn for the strange and introspective. I hope my characterization of Kenshin came across okay; I see him as being civil and polite to his colleagues, but not one to mince words. I also hope Hiroaki's voice is consistent, even when he has indulged a little too much.

Many thanks to everyone who was kind enough to read and review; your comments and encouragement are always appreciated. Thanks also to kokoronagomu, who has done a cool bit of fanart based on one of the scenes in this fic: kokoronagomu. deviantart. com/art/the-watcher-hitokiri-125905504 (remove spaces). I'm always amazed at how people can translate literal scenes into visuals.


	6. In the Harsh Light

The moon was a blank hole in the deep sky; it illuminated the street and was so bright as to make the night appear as a pale imitation of day. It cast an eerie light across the broad planes of Toshiro's face, reminding Hiroaki of a ghoul's mask.

They were still waiting. Battousai was nowhere to be seen.

"They're late." Toshiro's voice was wired with tension. "Usually he's come and gone by now."

"Perhaps the meeting went for longer than expected." Hiroaki cast his eyes across the empty street, and saw only blank walls and swept paving stones, polished by the moon's unexpected brightness. It was only last night that he had been wandering down a deserted lane such as this one. His footsteps had been unsteady, his thoughts clouded from the sake.

"Shigekura better show up. This is an importa…"

"Shh!" Hiroaki held up a hand and they melted further into the shadows, pushing their backs against the wall.

The three men who walked past did not notice them; they were well concealed in the small alley. Hiroaki swallowed as he realised the man leading them was young; not much older than himself. Light spilled across the street, cast by the lantern he carried.

He recognised the older man who followed; this was Shigekura Jubei, a high ranking official attached to the Kyoto Shoshidai. Although he carried daisho at his waist, Shigekura did not possess the bearing of one experienced in combat. Hiroaki could not see the man's face, but he caught a glimpse of a silver topknot and stooped posture.

Shigekura was flanked by a tall, heavy set man who Hiroaki presumed was his bodyguard. Judging from his thick hands, broad shoulders and wide, bull's neck, he possessed formidable strength.

Yet this did not concern Hiroaki. After what he had witnessed these past few nights, he had learnt not to equate skill with size.

"It's getting late." The large man spoke, his voice deep and hoarse. There was an edge to it; the unease of one who was ever vigilant. "We should hurry a little. Lately there have been more of those so-called hitokiri…"

In his head, Hiroaki corrected the man. There hadn't been _more_ hitokiri.

There was just one.

"Like that so-called 'Hitokiri Battousai'?" The younger man's question held a note of disbelief. In the darkness, Hiroaki shook his head.

_Of all the things he could have said… _

"I don't care if he exists or not. We'll crush the rebellion soon." The bodyguard was implacable. Hiroaki noted the stiff line of his straight back, and his slow, heavy steps.

Shigekura held up a hand. "Now, now. Let's not talk about such things." The old man kept his tone light, making an effort to change the subject. "After all, we have reason to celebrate. Kiyosato, you're going to be married next month, aren't you?"

Hiroaki froze.

"That's right." There was no mistaking the excitement in Kiyosato's voice.

Hiroaki clenched his teeth and took a deep breath. Beside him, Toshiro lay a warm, heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, kid," whispered his companion. "We gotta see this through."

Hiroaki closed his eyes. For an instant, he wished, more than anything, that he was not about to witness this.

_A young man, getting married_.

Hiroaki wondered how old the bride was.

_Old enough to know grief?_

The old man chuckled. "Marrying your childhood sweetheart huh? What a lucky kid." Underneath the gentle, teasing humour was a note of pride. Hiroaki wondered if these two were close. Shigekura was old enough to be Kiyosato's father.

_Don't think about it!_

"Thank you. But still…" Doubt clouded Kiyosato's words; their footsteps slowed. "In these troubled times, do you really think it's a good idea to…"

"Don't worry, Kiyosato-san," reassured the old man. "In this world, everyone deserves a little happiness. Isn't that what we're trying to achieve, through this work of ours?"

Hiroaki felt Toshiro stiffen beside him. This old man Shigekura, who seemed more like a father than a threat to the revolution, had said what they all felt. It had never occurred to him that those on the other side of the blade might wish for the same things.

_Happiness._

_Peace._

"You must be Shigekura Jubei."

_Oh, God._

He had appeared from the shadows, materialising on the street behind them. His flat voice split the stillness, causing them to turn. Hiroaki hadn't even been aware of his presence until he spoke.

He stared as the hitokiri advanced, the searing moonlight touching his crimson hair. It blazed like a flame; an unlikely beacon. Himura was supposed to be discreet, a silent apparition slipping in and out of the shadows. But his appearance betrayed him; now, more than ever, he stood out.

It didn't matter.

There would be no-one left to speak of this strange looking boy, with his startling hair and terrible eyes.

The soon to be married man; the fatherly figure and his stoic bodyguard; they were already dead.

"Though I bear you no grudge, for the sake of the new era, I must have your deaths."

The words were spoken in a low tone; barely audible, yet Hiroaki had no doubt there was not a soul who would have missed them. He could hear his own rasping breath; his heart hammered, his head pounded. Both Shigekura and Kiyosato flinched, their pale features shadowed with fear.

Only the bodyguard glared back, his stone face implacable. "Who are you?"

There was a pause, and Hiroaki became aware of the cold wind sweeping through, tugging at Battousai's frayed gi. The hitokiri held them with his gaze.

"Choshuu Ishin Shishi. Himura Battousai."

It was a thunderclap in the still night.

Hands dropped to clutch saya and tsuka with a metallic clink. Bodies tensed; fear coursed through the three men and it was so strong Hiroaki thought he could _feel_ it.

Death: they read it in Battousai's eyes; _knew_ they couldn't stop it.

No matter how much they wished to live.

For as fast as they could draw, _he_ was faster, and in less than two strides he had already become a blur, the katana whipped out, a steel flash cleaving down the length of the bodyguard, a perfect, symmetrical cut. The precision was obscene, the speed inhuman. Both were erased in a viscous spray of red. Hiroaki could almost _taste_ it; warm, coppery.

The large man's body fell forward, his spirit extinguished. Hiroaki's eyes, turning upwards, found the hitokiri's blade, now stained crimson. For a heartbeat, a shadow crossed the moon, darkening Shigekura's features. In his hand, the old man's katana was as much use as a spring sapling. The shadow dropped, blurred edges morphing into man and blade, from impossible height.

The old man looked up.

And met a terrifying last sight. Battousai fell from the sky, plunging his blade into Shigekura's face. Hiroaki tasted bile in the back of his throat as the old man fell, his blood splattering the silver paving stones.

"Shigekura-san! Ishiji-san!" The young man, Kiyosato, was backed against the wall. He trembled; his face shone with sweat.

Battousai turned.

_Stop!_ Hiroaki wanted to call out. _You have killed Shigekura. Surely he doesn't need to die too!_

But he knew better. Kiyosato's only crime had been to see the slaughter. And in this war, fought in the shadows and back alleys, there was no place for witnesses.

_To feel so helpless…_

Battousai lunged.

And met resistance.

"Gah!" It was impossible, but somehow Kiyosato met steel with steel. The young man pressed forward, his teeth bared in a desperate grimace. His eyes were wide, frantic. The sweat now poured from him.

"Give up." Battousai's voice was like the edge of his blade; sharp, relentless. As he bore down on the young man, Hiroaki felt a stab of pity. To be on the receiving end of such an onslaught, staring certain death in the face…

_Staring into those eyes._

For as much time as it took for Hiroaki to draw breath, the two enemies were frozen, locked in a silent embrace.

Then Kiyosato broke loose with a hoarse cry, and Battousai took a step backwards. Hiroaki looked across and saw the dull whites of Toshiro's eyes, wide in surprise. They shared an unspoken thought.

This had never happened before.

But the difference between the opponents was obvious. Kiyosato stood, his katana bared, breath leaving him in heavy gasps. His forehead glistened with moisture.

That defensive block had cost him. He would not be able to keep this up; there was _no way _he could match Battousai in speed or strength.

Hiroaki knew it; Toshiro knew it.

And yet, in the revealing moonlight, Kiyosato's eyes burned. He matched Battousai's cold stare with his own fire; intense, determined.

The difference was obvious. Battousai was unmoved, his breathing steady and even. His katana was still and silent; Hiroaki could see the uneven pattern of blood, now drying, that had settled across its edge.

His stance revealed not one whit of tension; to the inexperienced observer he might have appeared open to attack.

Kiyosato screamed and rushed forward, bringing his sword down, the momentum driving him. There was the force of his all conviction in that stroke.

Battousai defended with ease.

Pushed onto the back foot, Kiyosato turned and grunted, making a wild swing.

His blade sliced nothing but air. Battousai leapt and pivoted, facing the young man.

_It's over_.

Hiroaki saw a red blur; heard Kiyosato's scream, cut short as he fell to the ground. The hitokiri's blade whipped across in a smooth arc, leaving behind it a vicious explosion of dark blood. The aftermath of violence now painted the street.

Hiroaki could smell it, stronger than before. That familiar, acrid scent; there was nothing in the world that could match that smell. He became aware of Toshiro, and his slow, ragged breathing. Neither of them spoke. The scene was set; the players down.

Battousai had done his job.

The hitokiri did not move. Hiroaki found himself unable to tear his eyes from that delicate figure, surrounded by carnage. Surprise crossed Battousai's features and he raised a hand to his left cheek. His fingers came away stained.

"What the hell?" mouthed Toshiro, edging forward.

They heard a low, visceral sob. The fallen figure of Kiyosato moved, one arm outstretched, as if he were reaching for something. Hiroaki saw his head raise, saw the lips move. Kiyosato was saying something, but the words were lost in the distance between them.

_Still alive…_

Battousai turned and drove his blade into the man's heart.

Silence.

Hiroaki glanced at Toshiro, waiting for a cue, but the big man was frozen, staring into the shadows. He steeled himself and stepped into the open. After a pause, Toshiro roused himself and followed.

"We've come to check." His deep voice echoed in the empty street.

Battousai turned, revealing his pale face and the vivid slash across his cheek, trickling blood. "Thank you for examining them."

"Your cheek!" Hiroaki's thoughts had scattered; he was unable to contain his surprise. He fought down the revulsion, and was bewildered to find a note of concern amongst it.

"It's nothing." The hitokiri's expression was blank; Hiroaki did not understand how he could remain like this.

"But he reached your face with a sword! He must have been very skilled."

"No." There was a sharp flick, the air rended as Battousai performed _chiburi_. Another streak of blood crossed the path, adding to the chaotic swirls of deep red. "His skill itself was nothing. But his will to live was incredible." He sheathed his sword with a click.

Hiroaki almost missed, it but it was there. The first time he had heard emotion in that man's voice. There was some form of feeling at least, but he couldn't identify it.

_How could you have done it, Himura-san?_

He shuddered, reminding himself that just last night, he had been pressed against a wall, alongside this man. Now he was looking at someone else; a stranger. He stared ahead, but Battousai had already turned his back, walking away. "I'll leave the rest to you."

Hiroaki pulled the notice from inside his gi, casting his eyes over the neat lines of the kanji. The black ink was a stark reminder.

_Heaven's justice._

On the breeze, a voice floated to him; it was Battousai, speaking. But the words had escaped him.

"Huh?" Hiroaki looked up. "Did you say something?"

"No. It was nothing."

"Oh."

They watched until Battousai had disappeared from sight. Hiroaki sighed and looked down at Kiyosato's sprawled, lifeless form. He was face down on the pavement, his arm outstretched. It was a small mercy that they didn't have to see that face.

Toshiro squatted down beside the corpse and stared back into the empty street. "Will to live, huh?" His face looked drained; he displayed none of his usual black humour. "I guess a first-class swordsman can tell that just by crossing swords with someone."

"Yeah." The paper had grown moist between Hiroaki's damp fingers; he had forgotten about it. "Maybe he could tell that. But still, he killed them all without even blinking." He lay the notice on Kiyosato's back, careful and reverent in the way he placed it. A small pin secured it.

_That happiness you spoke of… I hope you find it in the next life. _

The paper fluttered in the breeze and then became still. Hiroaki rose, and his eyes met Toshiro's. He shook his head. "He really is a hitokiri."

Toshiro said nothing; just grunted in agreement.

Their work was done.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Yeah, so now you know. Hiroaki and Toshiro are _those_ guys. This is essentially chapter 165 of the manga, done from a different point of view. Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and review; your comments are always appreciated.

* * *

_Some words:_

_Chiburi: that thing where one flicks the blood from his blade. _

_Kyoto Shoshidai: an important administrative and political office, which was expanded during the Tokugawa regime._

_Saya: scabbard_

_Tsuka: hilt_


End file.
